ask anonymous
by jmarie-dep
Summary: words are all we have / "funny; i thought i had you." I smile widely instead of wickedly. "you can, if you like."
1. the beginning: i can feel your pulse

ask anonymous

the beginning: i can feel your pulse in the pages  
 _i have written you down,_  
 _now you will live forever_  
bastille, poet

recommended listening:  
poet by bastille  
overjoyed by bastille

* * *

Dear Noir,

This summer has been filled with nothing but boredom, and a little dash of spicy trouble with the Potter cousins (subtract James, of course). Albus brought home this lovely girl named Emma to our end of summer bash (oh, how I wish you would have come), and let's just say Albus saw me making eyes at her. He's just started speaking with me again this morning.

Though, there is another (in his mind better ) reason Albus saw it fit to ignore me for a week. Little Lily thought it would be a good idea to tell Albus at said party that Scorpius and I did a little more than snog at the end of the year party the Slytherins threw in June. Really, though, he should know better than to think I went up to a boy's room just to snog him.

Aside from all that, I'm interested in you, Noir. I heard a little rumor that you will be gracing the cover of a magazine. Pray tell.

You're Dearest Friend,

Rouge

.

Dear Rouge,

My summer was also one of boredom, with a pinch of awkward run-ins with Deirdre at the market. She's looking fit, I guess. Her hair is a shade lighter, and she's growing it out. She made eye contact with me, which I found odd, until she waved. Then I found that to be the odd part. Maybe she's done being a bint? We'll see what the new semester brings, won't we?

On the good side, Jane landed her first cover. It's that no makeup magazine, Witchy Gossip . These rumors of her and Teddy having a romanticaffair are really helping her social standing-I can't wait until they reveal it's all true.

And yes, my face will be gracing the cover of Witch Weekly, which I guess is exciting. It's my mother's last bang before retirement, and Jane is excited about another cover. A family back-to-school thing. It's stupid. And I just feel so fucking terrible about it because I'm feeling forced into it. I haven't left my room in two days and the shoot is tomorrow.

Don't let my dramatic, isolationist ways get you down, sweetheart. You have an entertaining week before school starts. Don't get into too muchtrouble!

All My Love,

Noir

.

I finish my letter to Rose with a swirl of ink, and wait for the last few letters to dry a bit before folding up the parchment and attaching it to my owl's leg with a black ribbon. Seated at my desk, I can look straight out my window. The sky is inky black tonight, the stars faded behind a thick fog. It rained a lot throughout the day, huge drops pouring out of puffy gray clouds. There had been a few flashes of lightning, bursts of thunder sounding throughout the town. Tonight, it's quiet, not just in the sky but down here on the ground. Most holed up in their homes today, it seems. Here, Mum made soup, leaving it just outside my door because of my refusal to leave my room. Dad asked me to come out when he came home from work; I refused. I know it's also so childish, but I can't help it. I feel helpless in this situation, mostly because I know I'll end up doing the shoot. And I hate it.

On the bright side, Hogwarts is just around the corner, and I know Rose will do everything in her power to cheer me from this dull, dreadful summer. I can't wait.

.

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

Born to a small wizarding village just outside of Dublin, I grew up with only one friend, and my talented father and beautiful mother were usually the talk of the town.

That's when my writing began. My father, Seamus Finnigan, worked as an auror for the Irish Ministry, and my mother, Kennedy, was the first muggle model to ever be featured in a wizarding magazine. They worked a lot, and my sister Jane, as lovely as she is, was older, more mature than I. We didn't spend a lot of time together when we were young. I was usually alone, but that was okay. I had famous authors for company, bound in paperbacks and hardcovers, waiting for me on the shelf whenever I needed them.

I wanted to be that for people, bound and available for company.

So, here I am

.

Growing up with my parents wasn't hard. My father was the most lovable man to ever grace this Earth, and my mother is as kind and intelligent as she is beautiful. In fact, even after I left that tiny village and made my way in the world, I still saw my mother as one of the most beautiful women. Her hair a silky, smooth red, her eyes a deep shade of blue. Her body was thin, her skin made of porcelain, not a freckle in sight.

My sister is a whole other universe when it comes to beauty. While my mother is different looking with her fiery hair and ocean eyes, my sister is elegant, simple. Her light brown hair falls smooth in waves, and her skin is pale and clear, just like our mother's. But her glass-like, ocean blue eye are what a pull a person in. Looking in them is like looking into the mirror to your own soul, not the window to hers.

But just because they are beautiful doesn't mean they are perfect. My mother and I had a long-running problem between the two of us. She wanted me to be a model, just like her, just like Jane, but I wanted nothing to do with that. I could never see myself dolled up and slapped on a page. The Mum I saw on Saturday mornings making pancakes and hot coco with Dad was not the woman I saw when her latest issue of this or that magazine arrived by owl or muggle snail mail. Model Mum and Home Mum were two separate entities to me, and it took me a long time to understand the former.

My sister was numb for a long time. Broken down by that world, yet her eyes always reflected the rest of the world's pain instead of her own. That is just like Jane, though. She hid the pain deep inside of her, and it was hard to forgive when it oozed out.

Those things were forgiven in the end, though. They were easier to forgive than the problem that plagued my childhood, and most of my schooling. The Vanity Problem, as I came to call it.

How do you cope with being the ugly one?

.

As I said, my father is lovable. He's a klutz of a man, whose inability to cast new spells without creating some kind of fire can sometimes be an asset in his occupation as an auror— Fun Fact: Former Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, then a professor of my worst subject, used this talent of his in The Battle of Hogwarts. At home, he is the comedic relief when we need him to be. He is the fanciful storyteller who attacked the nightmarish monsters in my closet with his words, instead of the real ones he duels with his wand. He is my rock, my protector, and the author of my wildest dreams.

My mother is a spirited woman. Kind. Intelligent. To me, she is the woman who made me pancakes and hot cocoa on cold Saturday mornings, who sang me old Gaelic lullabies when even Dad's stories weren't enough. She taught me about all of her favorite stories, like _A Midsummer's Night Dream_ or _1984_ or _The Great Gatsby_ , her absolute favorite.

Jane and I are different from our parents. In stories of their youth, they were extroverts, loud, people who loved people and to be around as many as possible. Jane and I are introverts. We aren't people people, and we don't like loud conversation or crowded rooms, unless they are filled with alcohol, and have a place to smoke a cigarette to calm our nerves. We turned out anxious and sad.

We don't blame our parents. At least, I don't. I still don't know how Jane and I turned out so different, but we did. Somehow.

Maybe it was growing up in a such a small, confined village. Maybe not. Would we have turned out different if we were raised in Dublin? Maybe. But growing up in that one village with that one friend called Deirdre definitely affected me in ways I still cannot figure out.

.

Deirdre and I were friends from the time we knew how to be friends, and stopped when we were fourteen. It had been a hard summer, what with she and her family touring America, and me stuck alone while my parents worked and Jane lived it up in London.

A few days after Deirdre made our separation concrete, rebel Rose Weasley approached me during potions class, and asked to be my partner.

Actually, she said, "I see that you're all alone because that annoying girl ditched you for a more annoying girl, so, darling, can you do this not annoying girl, me, a small favor and save me from being partners with my cousin Albus all year?"

We were fast friends.

But along with Rose, came her family, and along with her family, came the public eye.

.

I had always had a problem with spotlight. It's blinding, and illuminates every miniscule flaw. I saw what it did to people, how it sometimes changed them into the worst versions of themselves. I could never live under the pressure. So, I blocked it out. I made myself Anonymous. But, here it is. The story of the most influential year of my life, told in snippets and what I hope is witty sarcasm and lyrics from my favorite songs and quotes from my favorite poems and stories. This is me, in my entirety, and I can't hide anymore.

 _end excerpt_


	2. 1: it all crept up on you

chapter one: it all crept up on you  
 _now that you are here suddenly you fear_  
 _you've lost control, you've lost control_  
 _do you like the person you've become?_  
bastille, the weight of living pt ii

recommended listening:  
the weight of living pt ii by bastille  
bittersweet symphony by the verve

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

Looking back on the first day of my sixth year-or really, every year I spent in school-September the first is an important day for any witch or wizard attending Hogwarts. It's the first day of your first year, and the first of your last. It's the first time you say goodbye to your parents, and the last you say hello to your friends. It's one beginning to the rest of your life. It's the day your mark your calendar around. It's that morning rush to get to that scarlet train, that packed platform, and for those who live in muggle communities, that feel of magic in the air you were scared you'd forget. It's the first time you have to rush through that taunting brick pillar, and the last time you feel the familiar rush of moving between worlds. For seven years, September the first is everything to a Hogwarts student.

September is also the spiritual beginning of autumn. Autumn isn't bright like Summer, or dreary like winter; it's doesn't smile like spring. Autumn, like its sister seasons, is another world entirely. Autumn crisps like a freshly pressed robe. Its winds snap you awake from your summer haze, blowing in your ears and putting tears in your eyes. It's the beginning of your lost tan, but the end of your sunscreen mishaps and burnt shoulders. It's itchy sweaters, brown boots, and leaves that can never be crunchy enough. It's the beginning of soups and pumpkins and chai tea. Being this amazing beginning, for a lot of people, autumn is the perfect season to fall in love.

For me, autumn was for falling in love with myself.

 _end excerpt_

.

September 1, 2022

As soon as I step off the train and onto the familiar platform 7 ½, I see them. Almost every girl has their new Witch Weekly, and my face is pouting at me from everywhere. My hair is messy, per usual, because the hairdresser gave up after every spell only lasted a few seconds. My stare seems to intensify more and more with each magazine that I see in the hands of a girl who stares at me in scary jealousy or odd recognition. I prefer the people who pass me by without a spared glance.

We walked through the barrier and into Kings Cross. I see the magazine here and there, but I lose sight of them as quickly as they catch my eye. Sometimes, I wish I could spend my time here, surrounded by muggles who have no idea who my mother is, who have no idea I'm best friends with a girl whose parents are war heroes. Who would see my wild hair and mischievous eyes and would want to be my friend because of them and not because of the people in my life.

We come upon that familiar brick pillar that plagued my eleven year old self. I take a deep breath before entering, followed by my family. I can literally smell the magic here as kids prank their siblings or friends with dungbombs or screaming yo-yos or self-propelling custard pies. So yes, I can hear it, too. And then I can taste it when a custard pie misses its intended target and hits me square in the face.

Right after my sister performs a cleaning charm, Rose surprises me by hugging me from behind. It's so tight, I'm scared I won't be able to breathe; I almost choke on my spit and a little bit of custard. In my ear, she whispers, "You smell like freshly baked pie," and plops a kiss on my cheek. I can feel the stain her blood red lipstick left behind, and I do not wipe it off.

"How are you, Mrs. Finnegan?" she asks my mom in a such a polite way, I question whether it's really my Rose.

"I'm good dear," my mother says in her quiet, pull-you-in voice. "How's the family?"

"They're great," Rose smiles. "Actually, they'd love to steal Nora here so we can get a big group photograph."

"Oh, Seamus, doesn't that sound lovely? We can go see everyone," Mum pulls Dad by the arm, and Rose and I follow them, Rose nudging me every so often with the sole purpose of annoying me. I swear, sometimes Rose is the most sophisticated girl with the oldest soul, and sometimes she reminds me of a twelve year old girl trying to bother her older cousins.

We hop into the picture at the last second.

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

It's a lovely photograph, really. It reminds me of the times when everything was whole, when we thought nothing was wrong in our lives. Before the illnesses revealed themselves and the deaths took away people we loved and the sadness swallowed us whole. It reminds me of being happy and in love before he left me-and the mess of our lives-behind.

First, there was Matty Smith, one of Hugo's friends, his brown, floppy hair lazily resting on his forehead as his brown eyes lit up with his smile. Hugo was half-leaning on him, his flaming orange hair a stark contrast to the dark shadows surrounding his crystal eyes.

Louis and Frank Longbottom were in the center behind us. They were very different from the rest of the group, with their shortly trimmed hair and polo shirts, their arms around each other's shoulders as they smiled. Frank's other arm was behind Lily's head beside him, his fingers making tiny rabbit ears. Lily, unaware, was beaming, her best friend Elle Birch beside her, wearing similar outfits of black skirts and frilly shirts.

Albus was squished between the two rows, slightly crouched between Frank and Louis, his hands holding him steady on James's shoulders. He was less smiling and more grimacing, as he hates photographs.

The front row was Rose, James, and then me. None of us were even attempting a smile. Rose, of course, had her eyebrows raised, her eyes looking directly into the camera. Her black dress was scrunched under the jumper tied around her waist, and her tights had a million holes in them, her knees poking out as she squatted. She was a purposeful mess, whereas I was a complete wreck. My white tank was see-through, which I didn't find out until much later, and my light blue bralette was being shown off to the world. My hair was bigger and wilder than usual in the high humidity, my eyeliner was extremely smudged from sweat, my face was an odd reddish/pink color, and my eyes were glaring daggers at Oliver Wood Jr. as he passed. James, in between us chaotic girls, looked more like a rebel than he really was in his leather jacket, and his short hair was sticking up in all directions. He was looking at me when the shot was taken.

I still have the photo. It's faded and wrinkling quite a bit at the edges from being shoved in this book and that notebook and a few pockets and shoes and bras just to have it around and near.

 _end excerpt_

Rose and I decide to sit with James and Albus in a compartment. I immediately take a seat by the window, while Rose sits next to me, back against the wall, and puts her feet into my lap. "i hope you don't mind, babe. i'm terribly tired since hugo woke me up early to make him breakfast." She pulls out a pair of sunglasses, and rest them over her eyes. I presume she falls asleep shortly after that. Rose has always been one of those lucky people who can fall asleep in no time.

Albus's friend Emma joins us soon after, and she opens up her new copy of _Witch Weekly_ as soon as she sits. She's sitting so I have a clear view of my own face pouting back at me. Albus leans his head on her shoulder, and falls asleep. James, across from me, leans his head against the window, and falls asleep as well. So it's just me and magazine-me with my magazine-mum and -sister and this girl Emma reading our insides put on display for the world.

I open the window and pull out my fags when Emma leaves to change for the prefect meeting. I wasn't made one for my constant absence in Transfiguration, Rose for her constant presence in detention, Albus for his quick witted sarcasm that he never seems to hold back, and James actually sent his badge back the summer before his fifth year with a note declining the offer. He takes advantage of some of the little things that come with being a Potter.

"Oh, Noir, do share. Mine are with the luggage." Rose jumps up, awakened from the smell of smoke, and makes James wake up too, just to move from the window. I offer a fag, and she holds it out for me to light like the little princess that she is. The smokes leaves slowly and far more elegantly from her lips than it ever will mine, even if I was the one who taught her how to breathe deeply and not choke in the first place. I offer one to James, but he politely declines with a shake of his head. Albus stays sleeping, snoring and drooling against the cushion of his bench.

"Aren't my potter boys just adorable?" Rose asks me, flicking ash out the window. I look at her, confused as to why she would ask the question, but that's one of the little things about being friends with Rose. Never really knowing what to expect.

I look at them, Albus drooling and James watching the smoke dance in the air, his glasses falling down his nose, and I nod. "Well, I think so."

"Now, Sweetheart, let's talk about your birthday."

"What about my birthday?" I'm the first of the year to turn seventeen, as well as best friends with a Weasley, so I'm afraid it'll be made into a big deal. "I want to sit by the lake and get trashed."

"I want to throw you a big party."

"Do I have to be at this party?"

"What? Is that even a question?"

"Either way," I tell her, "Nora Finnigan will be getting trashed, and not talking to anyone other than Rose Weasley." I turn to James, who's gone from watching the smoke to watching us. "And James; I'll talk to James." He smiles a little bit.

Albus, apparently awake again, decides to chime in. "Come on, Nora, Noir, Darling — whatever Rosie would call you in this moment — you're on the edge of seventeen, of being legal. This is huge!"

"What is so huge about turning seventeen? Please," I turn to James, "Do tell."

The boy shrugs. "Apparation?"

"You are no help, Big Brother," Albus shakes his head, turning to me. "You're gonna be an adult!"

"I'll still be a sixth year. I'll still have almost two years left in school."

"Adult!"

"Student."

"Legal magic outside of school!"

"Oh, Albus, Honey, give it up," Rose sighs. "Noir only gets excited about little things like birds and patterns she's never seen before. The things that excite normal people like us don't get to her."

"Rosie, I'm sorry, but you aren't one of us normal people," Al laughs.

I look out the window, finishing my cigarette as they bicker. Merlin, I missed this over the summer. Sitting with my girl and her Potter boys, smoking a fag without having to hide it, not being alone with my head all the time — no matter how much a of an annoying prat Al can.

Emma comes back a little while later for her sweater. The cigarettes are out of sight, but the smell of tobacco is still in the air. Emma can definitely smell it, and I know this is the test of whether or not Rose will like her. She takes her sweater from its previous place as Al's makeshift pillow, and says nothing about the smell. I can see Rose try to hide her smile.

"Hey!" Al shouts too loudly.

"Anyway, I've gotta get back to rounds. I just wanted to say," Emma turns. "I really loved your interview, Nora. At first glance, it seems like the interviewer was being rude, asking about your mum and sister and barely about you. I read it again and saw that you were just gracefully switching the topic to them. You have a way with words, Nora Finnigan."

"Thanks," I say, trying to feign gratitude instead of show attitude about the shoot i never wanted to do. Really, my hand twitches for a cigarette to kill the anxiety flaring up inside of me. I can see Rose looking at me in my peripheral, but I stay calm. Breathing in and out and all that. The wheels are churning in Emma's head as she is leaving. Rose and I just look at each other oddly, before each smoking another fag.

"That was weird," I say.

"She's weird," Rose replies.

"But hot," Al chimes in.

"Yes, but hot," Rose smiles.

James is quiet.

.

"Why did we have to leave instead of the boys?" Rose drags me to the bathroom a little while later to change, so Al and James can have some privacy to change, as well. We have to walk through two train cars just to get to a bloody bathroom.

"Oh, leave it be. I didn't want to fight with Al, and James is the only cousin I adore lately."

I take in my appearance as we change in the single bathroom together. The black around my eyes is starting to smudge more than I like, and I rub at it in an attempt to look neater, before pulling off my tank. Rose is refreshing her red lipstick in her underwear. When I laugh at the silly faces she makes in the mirror; she sticks her tongue out at me.

"Oi, Noir. I bought this lovely new lippy this summer, but I don't like it much on me."

She hands me a gold tube, and I, too, apply lipstick in my underwear, making silly faces in the mirror. It's a nude color with a tinge of pink, and there's this frosty aspect to it that contrasts really nicely with the black around my eyes and makes me feel like an ice queen. I love it. I ask Rose what she thinks while I purse my lips.

"Hot."

.

When we get back to the compartment, Emma is back from the meeting, and Louis, Frank, and an unknown boy have arrived. Louis and Unknown boy wear blue and brown ties around their necks, Frank and Emma wear red and gold, like Rose, and Albus wears grey and green. James's black and yellow one, the same as mine, lies beside him, his button-up undone at the top, his leather jacket over it.

"Jamie," Rose chides, and her lips quirk up at the sight of fresh meat. "You mustn't get into trouble for breaking dress code again." She enters the compartment, and sidles up to Unknown Boy, who's sitting in James's previous position by the compartment door. "What's your name, Love?" She asks it with confidence and a smirk, asks it in a way I never could.

"Down girl," Louis jokes. I move into the compartment as well, and James scoots away from the window a bit to make room for me. "You'll scare the poor bloke." Louis looks me right in the eyes as I sit down across from him; I light up a cigarette. He makes me nervous.

The others start a game of partners Exploding Snap. Rose links her arm with Casper's, the now-known Unknown Boy. Louis is with Frank, and a half-asleep Albus is with Emma. That leaves James and I to be awkwardly partnered up. We don't speak to each other much. Frank and Louis laugh together, and make jokes. Rose continuously makes passes at Casper, who definitely likes the attention. Emma constantly tries to get Albus to be more alert. James and I will mumble things about the game from time to time. Normally, we're very friendly because of shared best friend in Rose, but I feel anxious with Louis so close, and James wants to play this game even less than I do.

It's just Rose and Casper and Louis and Frank toward the end. James and I get kicked out pretty quickly, not at all trying to stay in. He tries to hide the small smile tugging at his lips as he leans back, eyes upcast at the ceiling in relief. I lean against the window, and watch the rest play. It takes a few rounds for Albus and Emma to get out, but eventually Albus's tiredness wins him over and he makes a silly mistake. A while later, Rose screams in triumph as Frank gets him and Louis out. Everyone but James, Albus, and I cheer at the end, and then they all settle down.

I move to smoke another cigarette. I always smoke the most on September First.

"You know, those things will kill you," Louis says, surprising me. He puts his hand over mine holding the pack. My eyes flick up to look at him, and I can feel Rose judging every movement in the compartment with her lips parted just so, in that way nobody unrelated to her can deny — _except the only one who matters_ , she would say, half-asleep and drunk, head on my shoulder.

I tilt my head, quirk my lips, just the way Rose taught me, as I move to make my answer. Louis Weasley, the first boy to kiss me, and then said it meant nothing. Then, I say, "Too late, Angel."

Rosie taught me well, judging by the way his hand pulls away cautiously.

.

"It's odd," Rose says to me as we search for an empty carriage. No family members, no kids who think they can get close just so their name will end up in the _Prophet's_ gossip section or _Witch Weekly_. Just us. "Watching my tricks used on my own cousin like that."

"You've taught me well."

"Be careful with Louis," she warns. "You know he's a breaker of hearts. any game played with him is a dangerous one. don't get too attached."

 _Too late, Angel._

.

I sit with James in the Great Hall that night. He's humming the melody to a song playing in his head, looking at the table instead of the people around him. He's more introverted and in tune with himself than anyone I've ever met. But I am a people watcher, more interested in watching when people think they are unseen than actually getting to know them. Deirdre is a few seats down, alone. Her hair is yet another shade lighter than when I saw her last, and it's grown out to almost the length I remember from third year. I wonder why she is alone; I know she's friends with Indra Darzi, a girl in our dorm. The Sorting Ceremony is going on up front, but nobody pays much attention; there is a subtle hum in the hall as people catch up with their housemates. I make eye contact with Rose, and she blows me a kiss before going back into deep conversation with Matty's little sister, Mel.

Our table erupts into cheers as a little eleven year old girl sits at the very edge. Her hair is a red mess of curls, and her eyes a striking blue.

"Related to you?" I ask jokingly because everyone believes they're just a mass of redheads, which is surprisingly untrue.

"Not that I know of."

"That's too bad; You're all by your lonesome in Hufflepuff this year."

"Funny; I thought I had you."

I smile widely instead of wickedly. "You can, if you like."


	3. 2: and you wake each day

chapter two: and you wake each day with your thoughts  
 _when you're out loneliness, it crawls up in the crowd_  
 _it's what you feel but can't articulate out loud_  
bastille, sleepsong

recommended listening:  
sleepsong by bastille  
loveliest creature by savoir adore

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

I think a lot. To some, that's an attractive characteristic. To others, it's a flaw. I think a lot about the past, the future. It took a long time for me to learn how to live in the present, the moment, to daydream without my thoughts going south. I think a lot about the people I love, and what they really think of me. Sometimes I think so much, I feel like my head is going to explode.

Writing this is very cathartic for me. Putting these thoughts that I have had for so long down on a page. That long, eventful year of my life was an influential one. I was thinking a lot then, thoughts swirling around my head a million kilometers a second, and I think a lot about the events of that year now.

Here's my advice, if you want it. Shut your mind off whenever you can. Live in the moment. Sometimes it's healthy to be thoughtless. Wild. Free. Love with your arms wide open, your heart on your sleeve. Cliches can be lovely, so don't try to run from them. But know that with this unadulterated love, heartbreak is but a moment away. Don't be afraid of it. Don't run from it.

 _end excerpt_

.

September 9, 2022

Friday, I collapse onto the loveseat in the Gryffindor common room with Rose. Coming in on a Thursday, the Headmistress pitied us students and left classes until the coming Monday, so this week was the first of class. It was excruciatingly long, every class being the same tiresome speech about NEWTs and an essay about a topic we have to teach ourselves. Thankfully, Rose and I both finish classes before lunch on Fridays.

"Ladies," Wood Jr. drawls as he moves past us and up the boys' staircases.

"Prat," I spit, before Rose can say anything worse.

We lounge together. I write in my journal as Rose reads about curse-breaking. Every once in awhile, one of us will make a joke and the other will laugh. It's nice, quiet, serene. Surprising for the Gryffindor common room right after classes. And then Albus Potter squishes himself between us.

"Hi," he says.

"No," Rose immediately replies.

"C'mon!"

"What?" Rose closes her book with a loud thud. I try to go on writing, try to pretend Albus isn't there, but he's partially sitting on my leg. And his presence is always a large one. Albus and Rose have an odd and loud relationship full of shouting, laughing, and more shouting. They fight a lot, but they always make up. Each will always stick up for the other. James and Rose are quiet, like this room was before Albus arrived. They talk about the world and its issues and their feelings. They're deep and connected. Albus and Rose are — "What the fuck do you want?"

"Actually, Rosie-Oosie," Rose hits him. "Ow, shit Rose. I want to talk your Nora."

"One, I do not own her. Two, I ask again, what the fuck do you want? She's busy."

"She's just writing in her journal," he says dryly, taking it from my hands. "' _Albus is kind of an asshole._ ' Thanks, love." He and I have this weird tension between us completely unrelated to lust. He thinks I turned Rose onto her rebellious streak, and I think he should mind his own business.

"What do you want, albus?" I snatch the book back, protective of my life inside it.

"It's about your birthday…"

"No. No. No." I sigh. "No party. No big bash. No nonsense. I want to get drunk by the lake with people I like. I want it to be quiet and lovely, not loud and hot. No."

"You have to have a party! You're the _first_ to turn seventeen! You _have_ to have a party!" At this point, he's gotten the attention of some of the other Gryffindors, who are all looking at him in annoyance. Al making a scene is not a new thing.

"Al, in case this has escaped your mind," I'm trying to talk quietly so the eyes will all look away. "I don't have to do anything."

"But—"

"I don't like big crowds. I don't like parties, clubs, raves, _whatever_. Why should I celebrate my birthday with the other people in this school if I'm not going to have a good time? It is my birthday."

"Because they want to _celebrate_ with you, Nora."

"The feeling isn't mutual."

.

That night, Rose joins James and I for dinner at the Hufflepuff table. Our small section is nowhere near crowded, the other Hufflepuffs respecting our space, or intimidated by the fact that Rose is a Weasley and James her Potter boy. He's tapping his fingers and I'm writing and we're both silent as we wait for supper to appear. We're all out of our robes, as is most of the school, ready to go nuts during the first weekend. Rose plops down across from us in a tight red shirt and ripped jeans shorts, red painted lips quirking up into a smile as I look up at her.

"Welcome to hell," I gesture, opening my arms.

"You never need a jumper," James says. Rose chuckles, then straightens herself out, getting serious.

"Oli approached me in the common room before I came down here."

James stiffens, the ever protective and loyal cousin. His fiery temper makes him the one all his cousins look to for backup. Last year a rumor circulated the school that James put a boy in a body-bind just for calling Dominique an ugly name, after a muggle fight and wizard duel, obviously. I can say with a matter of factness that didn't happen… exactly. I was hidden behind a tapestry, skiving off Transfiguration and reading a book about the Wild Woman Archetype, when James and Dominique walked by. A boy came from the other way, and immediately stopped to call Dominique the ugly name from the rumor, one I hope to never be called. There was no fistfight, no duel, no body-bind. James just punched the boy. No words, no spells. One swift punch and the boy was down, bloody and cowardly. Nobody said anything to Dominique like that again.

He and Rose have the closest relationship of all the cousins. The others are more about finding themselves outside of their family, finding out who they are without the Weasley or Potter name. And while James and Rose aren't _all about family,_ they're the closest thing to it out of the cousins. That's why James stiffens next to me. Because if anybody in this world is James's best friend, _anybody_ , it's Rose. And Oliver Wood Jr. betrayed her trust. And James would like nothing more than to hurt him.

"And what did he say?" I ask, lifting one leg up so my foot sits on the bench, my chin resting on my bare knee.

"He wants to get back together with me," she says, looking at the table. "I told him I would think about it."

"You can't!" James practically yells, surprising me. "He's a git!"

"Relax, Jamie," she laughs, taking a roll as the food appears in front of us. I move my journal from my lap, and put some vegetables on my plate. "I'm not going to. I just want him to sweat it out, maybe drive him nuts a little. Then, I'll break the news as if this wasn't my plan all along. He needs to be taken down a notch, and realize I was never actually in love with him. It's not as if he broke my heart."

"If he cheated on you, why does he want you back?" I ask, stabbing lettuce instead of eating it.

"I don't know. His choices have always been a mystery to me," she waves her hand in the air as if to say the topic is boring her as noodles and sauce cover her chin. "Jamie, what's going on in your love life? Any new girlfriends?"

This peaks my interest, so I turn my gaze upon him as Rose wipes off her chin. For a guy that a lot of girls find attractive, he's only dated two. And those two each barely lasted a month. And he was the one to break both the relationships off. "Yeah, _Jamie_ ," I drag out the nickname he hates so much. "Any new birds in your life?"

"Please, Noir," Rose cuts in. "Nobody calls them birds anymore."

"No," James says, raising his goblet to his lips, a small smile forming on them. "No new birds."

"Well, that's just depressing, cousin Jamie. You need to get laid."

.

September 10, 2022

The next morning I rise early, and make my way into the Hufflepuff common room, making myself comfortable on the long couch in front of the fire. Usually, on Saturdays, my breakfast is when others have lunch, but I couldn't sleep last night, my mind filled with thoughts of just about everything. About Rose and her strong facade, about how no matter what she says, Oliver broke her heart. About James and his quiet nature, about why he doesn't have many friends and why he doesn't date much. About me, my life, but then that took a turn for the worst as thoughts of the future began to fill up my chest with anxiety. Then I thought about Louis's eyes, but that made me sad so I tried my hardest to sleep.

I am brought out of my thoughts by the dip of the couch when someone sits beside. There is James, slouched and sinking, hands resting on this thighs, licks of the flames dancing in his glasses. I turn my gaze away as I see his turn toward me, not wanting to get caught staring as he glances at his common room companion. Though it's more than a glance, I realize, as I feel his eyes settle on me, watch me for longer than I can say I'm comfortable with. So I turn to him, facial features showing him I expect him to say something.

"Oh, sorry," he says to me quietly, cautiously, maybe a bit shyly. While James is quiet by nature, I have never seen him be shy like this. Timid. My interest is peaked. "I've just never… sorry."

"You've never what?" I ask more rudely than I intend.

"I've never seen you like this," he says, and then realizes I have no idea what he's talking about. "You're always doing something with rose, or deirdre before her. Or you're scribbling in your notebook. Or your eyes are trained so hard on watching someone I think they might fall out of your head. I've never seen you just be."

"Really? Never?" I ask, curling into myself and resting my chin on my bare knees. I'm not ready to let summer go yet; I'm wearing baggy, floral shorts that make me feel too girly, so I offset them with clunky black booties and a plain t-shirt. "How does it look on me?"

I immediately regret the question. I feel like a twelve year old asking her crush if he thinks she's pretty, or if she's worth catching his eye. I try not to show my distress, and James is not someone I usually feel distressed around. I always thought of myself as lazy, leaving my assignments for the last possible second, spending too much time daydreaming. Maybe it doesn't seem that way to other people, maybe I seem better to other people. And, anyway, James is not some terrifyingly flawless boy that I should feel this way around. He is an attractive bloke, sure, but other than his last name, the boy is quite ordinary. He has a bit of a nose, and by that I mean a large one, but his glasses offset it. His hair is always untidy, and a lot of times it goes past sexy-untamed and straight to wild, although mine is no better. His jawline is sharp, but his eyes are warm. He is ordinary and beautiful and bright; I know why he's Rose's favorite.

"It looks good on you," and he grins. Bloody hell, I have never seen him grin before, and he instantly becomes more beautiful. I like his grin, I decide; it makes me want to be better friends with him. "You're a natural; You should be more often."

"Wanna go be at breakfast?"

"I could go for some toast."

.

James and I don't talk much at breakfast. I think myself into a hole: about NEWTs, about why Rose and I took defense this year. At points, I watch the way James eats while he draws. It's funny when he misses his mouth, but I refrain myself from laughing so he doesn't get self-conscious and stop. His drawings are so beautiful, realistic portraits of his family that are beautiful I want to lose myself within them. I do for a short time, and my pancakes go uneaten. The smell of syrup brings me back to reality.

I think about James: his antisocial tendencies, his love life, everything about him. I think about him last year when he got into a fight, his rage-filled self so different from the person drawing in front of me. I think about his small circle of cousins/friends. I think about his siblings: Albus, the outgoing, serial dater; and Lily, the friendly but quiet fourth year. I see her with Frank quite a bit, despite their two year age gap, but everything I've heard from Rose, and seen with my own eyes, makes me think she's an old soul. Rose, the rebel without a cause; Hugo, the boy with a mean streak; Louis, the pretty-boy who I love to stare at; Dominique, the beautiful girl who looked perpetually sad; Lucy, who I remember being the least popular of the popular; her sister Molly, the elusive purple haired girl; Roxanne: strong, independent, unafraid of turmoil; Freddie, Albus's mentor in pranking but not girl hopping; Teddy, the punk boy my sister loves; and Victoire, the willowy beauty. They're all so different and interesting and odd and wonderful and I get it. I get the appeal in their lives.

James is drawing me when I come out of my thoughts, and I don't want him to know that I know because I'm afraid he'll stop. But I can't stop looking at it. She looks like me, but she doesn't look like me. She is beautiful, terrifyingly so. She is sad. She is wild. I need a distraction, so I say, "You don't date much," because he doesn't. I don't know why I have to phrase like that, all declarative statement instead of a question, but it comes out before I have the chance to think. And then it just hangs there between us as James looks up from his book, from his me. He doesn't seem to know what to do with what I just said.

"You don't either," he replies simply. And he's right. I kissed Louis that one time, or rather he kissed me. Since then, I've kissed one or two boys at common room parties, and have been on one Hogsmeade date with a boy who graduated last year.

"I do not," I reply. He returns back to his drawing, but I need another distraction because my pancakes are gone and I'm no longer hungry. So I say, "Other than those two birds, am I the only one outside your family whom you talk to?"

He just nods, not even looking up.

"Why?" I chew on my nail. He makes another line, pushes up his glasses, closes his book. I hope I'm not annoying him, but I can't help it. This nervousness. I've never been a fan of seeing how other people see me.

"Why don't I talk to other people, why did I talk to those two birds," he smiles after birds , "or why do I talk to you?"

"All of them, I guess."

"I don't know," he pauses, and I hope that's not it. Then, to my joy, "I've never gone out my way to make friends. I had this whole assortment of them with my cousins, and then, other than Rose, they all started trying to get away from family. And those girls, they were deceivingly different and _pretty_ , that it took a little while before I realized what they were really after. And you... well, you've been friends with Rose for the sake of being friends with her. You put down Albus without a thought of our last name, and you know what it's like to be a child of someone who fought in that terrible war. You know what it means to exploit that; you know it's wrong. And, honestly, you're interesting to me."

I ignore his last remark because I have no idea what it means. "I'm not the only child of war you know, though. Your family if well-acquainted with quite a few."

"It's like I said, I never went out of my way. And neither did they." He smiles, and fiddles with his sketchbook. "What about you, Nora Finnigan? Why is it you only really talk to Rose and me?"

"People are exhausting," I respond immediately. Then, again, before I can think, "And I find you interesting, too."

James cracks a smile as he goes back to his sketchbook.

.

After breakfast, James leaves me to find one of his cousins, and I go outside to sit under a tree by the lake. I take off my customary black Docs, and sit Indian style. Rose asked me last school year why I wear them almost every day even though I have other shoes I think are cute. I told her I don't know, and then asked her questions about Wood Jr. to distract her for a good half hour. I really don't know, though. They make me feel comfortable and badass at the same time, and my other shoes don't. Rose looks for psychological answers to figure out why I do the things I do, mostly because she knows it annoys me. She also says she finds me fascinating, which is why she chose to be friends with me. I wonder if it's the same interesting that James mentioned this morning. I wonder if the fascinating and the interesting that they find me is a type of weird. I wonder if they think I'm weird. I know Rose cares about me, and that James is basically one of the best people I know, morally. I know they wouldn't make fun of me or hurt me, but I wonder if Rose became friends with me solely to figure me out.

I shake my head to rid myself of the thoughts. They're wrong. Rose is such a genuine person, it scares me sometimes how honest she can be, not only with me, but with herself. James is genuine as well, kind, and wouldn't pick up friends for the sole reason of their weirdness. He's so closed off from the Hogwarts population, the thought could never pass his mind.

"Finnigan," says a voice behind me. I look around the trunk of this thin tree, and to my delight, it's Louis Weasley. He looks glorious in this end-of-summer sunlight, his skin glowing, his hair bright, his clothes casual and comfortable but still lovely. He's lovely.

"Weasley," I respond with a smile, and he sits down next me.

"What's a girl like you doing alone on a gorgeous day like this?"

I can't help it, but butterflies jump about in my stomach. "Daydreaming," I tell him, taking a drag off my cigarette. "It's best done in solitude."

"Shall I leave you then?"

"Oh, no, I'm finished. A girl can only do so much dreaming before she gets lost."

I think this might be the longest conversation we've had since he kissed me a little under two years ago beneath a mistletoe that he conjured. Usually, the reason we are near one another is Rose, in all her glory. She's made plans or is throwing a party or got invited to a party and brings us along, something or another. Louis Weasley, who shattered my thirteen year old heart, whom I still hold a blazing torch for, has just sat down next me. We're alone. A part of me wonders if all of the attraction comes from the veela in him, and the rest of me does not give a single fuck. Because this boy sitting with me right now is so charming and beautiful.

"So, I hear you have a big birthday coming up. Seventeen, eh?"

"Yes," I sigh. "Albus has been bothering me about it all for a while now. He and Rosie want to throw me some loud and large and sweaty party."

"And you don't want that?"

"I want a quiet and lovely night by the lake, fueled by alcohol, of course."

"You can never forget that," Louis laughs. "I'll tell you what, if I can get Al off your back, am I invited to this quiet and lovely celebration of your life?"

My heart soars. Louis wants to come to celebrate me . "Of course you can come, even if you can't get party-obsessed Al off my back."

"Alright, Finnigan," he gets up and dusts himself off. "Your birthday it is, then; I'll be the bloke with all the firewhiskey. Now, I have to go straighten out my psychotic little cousin."


	4. 3: your albatross, let it go

chapter three: your albatross, let it go  
 _stepping forward out into the day_  
 _shrugging off the dust and memory_  
 _though it's soaring still above your head_  
-bastille, the weight of living pt i

recommended listening:  
the weight of living pt i by bastille  
shiver by coldplay

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

Without Rose, this would not have been possible. And even if it were, even if all of this could have happened without me being best friends with her, I don't think I could have made it through without her by my side. I had never experienced a non-familial bond so strong before I met Rose. I wouldn't be who I am today without Rose. I like to think of this book as a love letter, a sappy, cliche, often times corny, love letter to the people in my life I would be lost without. Rose Weasley is certainly one of them. Maybe _the_ one.

I had friends before Rose, or a friend, to be more precise. My friendship with Deidre was flawed and wavering. This is not her fault, or mine, but a collective feat of stubbornness and dissatisfaction. I refused to open up my little world for more than just her, and she was not happy with only one person to call her own. She needed more, and I needed something else. And it took us three years of schooling to realize this.

I know it's cheesy, but love your friends. Keep your youth alive within each other. You'll know they're the right ones if you'd be lost without them. I'd definitely be lost without Rose. She's my soulmate, my friend for life. I am so lucky.

 _end excerpt_

September 10, 2022

After I chat with Louis by the lake, I immediately try to find Rose. It's almost lunch, which means she should be waking up about now, but I don't know the password for Gryffindor tower. I resign to sitting outside the Fat Lady's portrait, as she moans to me about some male portrait standing her up. She then goes into the tale of her love life, though only ever since she's become a portrait because the tale of her pre-portrait life would be _far too much_. I, myself, feel like a cautionary tale as it's happening. Fifty-seven reasons not to be near the Fat Lady for more than five minutes: the death of one Nora Finnigan. It'll scare the little firsties in being in bed on time, into never sneaking out, for the Fat Lady will talk you to death if she finds you breaking the rules.

Some people come in and out. A nice, younger boy asks me if I desperately need to get in, but I tell him not to worry about it. I regret it soon after. Rose walks out twenty minutes after I sit down, and I make her hurry as soon as she shows her face.

"Darling, slow down, it's just lunch," she laughs, chasing after me as I pull her by the arm.

"The fat lady would not _shut up_ ," I tell her, breathing hard. Girls like me, aka heavy smokers, should never run.

"Alright, well, we're long gone now," Rose stops when I do, putting her hands on her knees, breathing hard like me.

"You'll never guess what happened," I say, getting my lungs back. "So I was by the lake…"

And I tell her the tale of Louis. She interjects with things like _Of course you were_ and _Ugh, sounds like him_ and _Oh, I bet you were drooling over my cousin, you slag_. She's such a perfect best friend, warning me about Louis but supporting me anyway, just being there for me.

"Thanks," is how I end the story.

"For what? Being born both in the same family as him, and around the same age."

"For being my friend," I say as we near the Great Hall. "For listening to me and always being there for me. You know, best mate stuff."

"Stop being adorable, and eat lunch with me."

We enter the hall, the doors groaning as we push them open, revealing much of the student body on the other side. The hall is upbeat this afternoon, happy, and I'm happy, too. Louis and Albus are sitting at the Gryffindor table, and the latter waves us over when he sees. He seems excited. I feel butterflies in my stomach at the sight of the former, still beautiful, still able to make my heart stop. I smile, a rare sight in a hall full of my peers, and Rose nudges me excitedly. Usually, I'd find that annoying, her always so obvious, but I'm on a cloud.

Sitting across from the boys, Albus jumps into a speech where he apologizes to me about trying to force me to have a party, and then goes on about ideas for a small thing by the lake, which I did not invite him to. But I don't care because Louis is looking at me across the table, a small smirk playing on his lips. He shrugs as if to say, _This is the best I could do_ , and I smile at him, then look down at the table.

"It all sounds lovely, Al," I say because it actually does. Some alcohol, some music, barely any people. It sounds like a dream.

Al, on the other hand, looks surprised, but nonetheless, excited. "I think I'll like a small gathering. Maybe I'll even like it better than big party."

"I doubt that," Rose snorts. "But at least you're trying. Good job, little cuz."

"I'm older than you!"

"In your dreams."

"On our birth certificates!"

Louis and I look at each other across the table as Rose and Albus argue over age and maturity. I can't help but revel in this newfound attention. It doesn't even occur to me to wonder why this boy, this amazing boy, has suddenly gotten over the awkwardness of our past kiss, and then his rejection of me. I am so entranced by him.

James sits down next to me, quiet as always, and begins to eat without asking why Rose and Albus are arguing, used to this. In the corner of my eye, I see him gaging the situation, and chooses to ignore us all, using us for company and not conversation. Louis doesn't see this, and greets his cousin.

"Alright, james?"

"Fine, and you?"

"Fantastic," he smiles at me. I fucking swoon.

I turn to James. "Find Hugo alright?"

"Yeah. He was asleep."

"How'd you get into Ravenclaw tower?" I swear, everytime I speak with James, he says something that gets me curious about him. I think it's part of his mysterious charm.

"The riddles are never that hard."

"Untrue!" Albus interrupts. We all turn to glance at him, his mouth full, his fork pointing at us with a piece of meat about to fall off of it.

"What'd you need Hugo for?" Louis asks, looking between James and me.

"Uncle Ron sent his letter with my mum's because his owl was lost or sick or something."

"Classic."

I like watching James interact with people who aren't Rose or Al. It's— I know he does. In my head, I know this. James doesn't only speak with Al and Rose and me. It's just such a rarity that I ever get to see who he is around other people, that I'm always amazed how he's exactly the same, one of the few people who doesn't change the way they are depending on the social setting. A true find for a friend.

Instead, I get what James wanted. I sit here, in the company of good people, and watch them as they chat. Louis and James talk about Rose's dad, remembering some of the funnier things he has done. Albus and Rose laugh together, get into a small argument, and then laugh together again. Albus does all this while chewing, food falling out of his mouth, so I have to look away. The rest are cleaner about it, taking bites of their food while the other is speaking. I like just sitting here, watching them. I already know it, but I am shown again why James loves them all so much.

"Nora, what do you think?" Louis asks.

I'm pulled out of my daze by him for the second time today, and I turn to look at him, wide-eyed. "Sorry, wasn't paying attention."

He grins, a cute little grin that shows more teeth than most other grins. I run my hands through my hair, looking at my almost empty plate.

"Louis was just-"

"Nora! Hi!" A light but excited voice shouts from behind me. Albus looks up surprised, and then goes back to his food, throwing the girl behind me a smile.

I turn to find Emma, her dirty blonde hair long and silky, lips glistening with gloss, eyes shining, surrounded by thick lashes. Just like that, I feel insecure. I give her a small smile, but wonder what the hell she wants with me when Albus is sitting right here.

"Emma... hi."

"Can I show you something?"

I'm not sure if I want to go with her, but my curiosity is peaked. Also, after Albus planned such a nice sounding birthday, I don't want to be rude to his friend. "Um, yeah, sure."

I get up from the bench, say goodbye to the cousins, and follow Emma out of the hall. I have no idea what is about to happen. Emma talks about this and that, nothing to do with what we're about to see, mentioning Albus and Rose a few times along the way, probably trying to give us something in common other than being White girls with blonde hair. Finally, she stops outside of a classroom on the third floor, in the clubs section.

"You want me to join a club?" I say a lot ruder than I intend to.

"Just come inside," she says with a smile, unfazed. "It's different than you think."

Walking through the door, I find students at desks writing, others running around in a frenzy, some just sitting with their eyes closed, thinking. It takes me a minute to take it all in, but eventually I figure it out.

"Is this Hogwarts Weekly?" Hogwarts Weekly, half-newspaper, half-literary magazine, all run by students, for students. At least that's how they describe themselves; I've never read it.

"Yes! And I think you'd be a great addition to our team."

"I don't show people my writing," I say immediately.

She smiles, again unfazed by me. "Well, you should, considering that wicked interview, but that's not at all what I have in mind for you. I have a proposal for you."

I raise my eyebrows at the word _proposal_ , it sounds so adult like to be coming out the mouth of one of _Albus's_ friends. "Ok."

"Follow me," and I do, again. We go to the classroom next door, only occupied by Scorpius Malfoy. We have a complicated history, and by that I mean he and Rose have a complicated history. And I'm her best friend.

"Nora," he greets me, already sitting, a stack of papers in front of him.

"Hi," this time, I furrow my brows, trying to figure this whole thing out. One time, Rose and I had a muggle movie marathon that involved gangs or mobs or whatever, always set in America, and everyone was always meeting in quiet rooms. One person was always already there, hands folded neatly, patiently waiting. This character was always eerily calm, but you could tell they might fly off the handle at a moment's notice. I've always seen Scorpius this way.

"Great, ok," Emma smiles, again, and moves to sit down next to Scorpius. I walk slowly, and sit two desks away from them both.

"We don't bite," Scorpius says with a smirk.

"I've heard contrary about you," I say back, too quickly for it not to be seen as rude.

"Nora, we want you to join the paper," Emma cuts in.

"That's been established," I tell her, my hatred unintentionally shifting. I make sure to say the next bit with a kinder tone. "But not in what capacity."

"An advice column," Scorpius says seriously.

I can't help it, but I laugh. It isn't loud and obnoxious, but a few snorts escape without my permission. I feel as though Emma is getting a terrible picture of who I am, but I also feel like there isn't much I can do now.

"Sorry to burst your bubbles, but no one in this school actually knows me. They know of me, and probably would never ask for advice from me other than how to get a Weasley for a friend or something about modeling, which I couldn't even answer. It wouldn't work out that well," I shrug. "And that isn't even touching on the fact that I don't want the school to know me."

"I think you have a lot more to offer than you realize," Scorpius says. I look at him oddly because it sounds like something Emma might say, not him. But then again, most of what I know about him comes from Rose.

"And what exactly is that?"

"Nora, as you know, I read your interview in the recent Witch Weekly," Emma pulls it out, and I can see Scorpius roll his eyes. "I already told you, but I'll say it again: you have a way with words. I think you'll be a great addition to the paper."

"But why in an advice column? I'm a sixteen year old lacking in life experience, world experience, and dating experience. Aren't advice columnists always asked about love and sex and other romance shit?"

Emma looks at Scorpius, and I grow more confused than ever.

"I really didn't want to bring this up, but Emma is insistent. I'm that one who thought you'd be good for this."

"That doesn't seem that hard to say," I quip.

"That's why it's not what I didn't want to bring up," he quips back. "You're Rose's best friend. Rose and I... well, you know. And it isn't hard to guess who'd she'd run to. You. You can calm down Rose bleeding Weasley. Whether it be from our thing, to her and Oliver, whatever. And the advice seems to work. Advice columnists haven't experienced everything they give advice on; that'd be near impossible."

"Lots of girls give advice to their friends post break up or—" I look at Scorpius "whatever. What makes me so special?"

"Your way with words," Emma says. "As well as your ability to keep calm, and calm others. I've seen you with Albus, and sometimes I don't know how you don't slap him silly. I know I have wanted to so many times, and he doesn't antagonize me the way he does you."

I look at them both, and I already know the answer. I could never handle something like this, but Emma looks so hopeful.

"Let me think about it," I say, standing. "Sleep on it."

"I think that's a fine idea," Emma smiles. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course, tomorrow." I curtly nod at Scorpius, and turn to go.

I leave them quickly, walking quickly back to the hall to make it in time for the end of lunch hour. I can't wait to laugh with Rose about this, but then again...I wonder if just the drop of Scorpius's name will take the humor out of it all for her. I feel bad for not at least kicking him in the privates, but I know Rose wouldn't want me to get into trouble on her behalf. And I know she'd rather me tell her all about this than to leave out Scorpius, so I steel myself before pushing through the rush of students leaving the hall, only to find her and her cousins still at the table. Louis and Albus are deep in conversation, while James draws and Rose rests her head on his shoulder, watching.

I take a seat beside James, who I see is drawing Albus and Rose together, smiling.

"What did Emma want?" Rose asks.

"Nothing special, I'll tell you later," I shrug.

"Sounds mysterious and special," Louis smirks at me. I can't help but smile back.

"Life is what you make of it," I say, trying to flirt and probably failing.

"Tell me," Rose drags out, looking between Louis and me. "When did you get so wise?"

"Somewhere between leaving Emma and stopping by the loo on my way back."

"Funny, Noir. Funny."

.

"You have to do it," Rose says quietly, oddly awed by my story.

"What?"

"Look, I despise Scorpius as much as— well, probably more than most people. But I think he and Emma are right, my love. I don't like that he ever dares to speak my name, but the example is spot on. You've never been in the kind of situation I was in with Scorpius. It's been all silly snogs for you — I mean… this isn't a bad thing. It's just who are you. And despite it — or maybe even, to an extent, because of it you were able to give me amazing advice that helped get me through. I also think you're an empath, which probably helps."

"One, still not an empath, no matter how many times you say it. Two, again I say, what?" I'm a little slack jawed. I thought Rose would laugh this off with me, agree that it was silly, that I, little, inexperienced, _virgin_ Nora, could not do this. But Rose has always believed in me.

"I really think you could do this."

"Ok, fine, feelings aside — seeing as you're so stubborn," Rose smirks at this. "What, you know, what if someone asks me about sex? About things I have never done before?"

"Then you consult me. I mean, there's a lot I haven't done either, but I think if we put our brains together, it could turn out amazing."

"But Rose…" I look away, still apprehensive. "I don't really want anyone to know me. What if my advice backfires, and my peers come after with me with pitchforks. Stuff and mount me on the wall. _Here lies Nora Finnigan, the girl couldn't give advice for shit_."

She takes my chin in her hands, forcing me to look at her. "First off, they'd all be lucky to know you. Decond, if you really don't want this to have your name on it, then I have a better idea."

.

September 11, 2022

In the morning, I find Emma and Scorpius in the classroom with the rest of their staff. I pull them to the side, not too interested in finding myself in the mostly abandoned classroom again. Scorpius looks flustered, so I'm guessing the next issue is a day or two away. His shirt isn't buttoned all the way, and I'm not sure where his tie is. Emma looks collected, as always. I think she should be the spokesperson for one of the anti-makeup campaigns that keep protesting at _Witch Weekly_ events; her skin is flawless.

"So, is a welcome wagon in order?" She asks, smiling.

"Yes, Finnigan, what do you think?" Scorpius looks like he'd rather be working than talking to me. I don't mind.

"I'll join," Emma actually squeals. I get why her and Albus are such good mates. "But I have one condition…" Scorpius's face urges me to get on with it. "I don't want people to know it's me. I want to go under a pseudonym of sorts. Really, it's just the obvious word: Anonymous. Ask Anonymous."

Emma's eye light up, her mouth slowly forming into a smile. Scorpius just stares at me, but I know it's a yes.


	5. 4: i wanna waste all of my time with you

chapter four: i wanna waste all of my time with you  
 _show me joy, flower through disarray_  
 _let's destroy each mistake that we made_  
-bastille, fake it

recommended listening:  
fake it by bastille  
black ajax by locksley

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

Mistakes are unavoidable, just like the passage of time. My advice to myself, now, is always this: always go after whom or what you want. Don't waste your own time; you've only got so much of it. Remember who you are at your core. They'll never let you down.

Don't be afraid of your own feelings. Don't let your insecurities get in the way. Don't let someone make you feel like you are not good enough for them. Don't get ahead of yourself, you probably aren't a psychic.

 _end excerpt_

September 28, 2022

September blows by fast, and suddenly, my birthday is only three days away. Albus has been talking about it since lunch three weeks ago, and I wonder when we went from forced conversation to him planning my birthday party. But I'm also trying not to overthink it all. I think he finally sees that someone like me could never influence someone like Rose, that I'm a lot less rebellious than I look.

During double potions on Wednesday, Rose asks what I want for my birthday.

"Al and I are sneaking down to Hogsmeade Friday evening for drinks, so I'll be there to get you something."

"I think helping plan this party, plus putting in for drinks, is enough present for me."

"Blasphemy!" Rose shouts, disrupting the class mid-potion-making. "I'm getting you something, even if you don't tell me what you would like. I know you enough to pick something out."

"Then why ask me in the first place?"

She huffs like a child, all long and loud and drawn out, drawing more attention to herself. "Because, Noir, I thought you'd be less anti-present than last year. Seems I was wrong. Anyway," she lowers her voice, "how's the paper going? The school hasn't been introduced to Anonymous yet."

"They plan their issues, like, a month ahead, so I'll be debuting next week, the third. They've been slipping small adverts into the last three issues, and we've gotten two requests."

"What about?"

"Love, relationships, self-image, basically what I predicted. I'm hoping people will send other questions in once they've seen some advice from me... and you."

"Being in on this without Scorpius's knowledge only serves to make this more fun."

I give her a look, and roll my eyes with a small smile. I turn back to our surprisingly great potion. It's just the right seafoam green for this stage, not tumbling but a nice rolling boil, and Rose hums appreciatively as our timer goes off. I move to stir eight times counterclockwise, and Rose sniffs the cauldron.

"Smells a bit like my vomit."

"Remind me to never smell your vomit; this stuff smells apocalyptic."

"Why do I need to remind you to not smell my vomit? And how do you know what an apocalypse smells like? Noir, what have you been doing when I'm not around?"

I give her another look, and she starts crushing beetles. We're right on task, like most the of class, and the wet, crushing sound is filling the classroom. It makes me cringe a bit, and Rose laughs at what I guess is a less than satisfied look on my face.

"What, love, you don't love that wet crunch?" She smashes one with extra force.

.

September 29, 2022

The day after, Albus accosts me in the corridor. He comes up from behind, and grabs my shoulder like a child in need of attention. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"What?"

"Birthdays mean presents."

"I think your presence is enough presents for me."

"Haha, witty word lady. No, really, we're friends now." He gives me a stern look as I feign surprise. A hand on my chest, a short gasp, and then a thin smile. Because it is a surprise to be friends with him, but I like it. Love it even. It's so much easier to joke around with him, to be nice to him and have him be nice to me, than to always be slightly on edge whenever he is near. "And I'm sorry we weren't before. I'm just very protective of Rose; we all are. It's hard not to be."

"I get it," I say quietly.

"Good." He smiles. "So what do you want for you birthday!"

"Albus, I've never been one for gifts."

"Well, I am! Witch Weekly happened to tell me it's one of my love languages, along with touch - Emma made me take the quiz." He looks away for a second. Then, "Anyway, if you really don't want to talk about it, I'll just ask Rose. She knows you so well. Like, _so well_ , it's a little scary. It just means she loves you."

He gives me a pat on the back before going in the opposite direction. I beam slightly under what he's just said; I already knew that Rose loves me. But it's always nice to hear that other people can see it too.

.

September 30, 2022

"There are rumors that you have got Al Potter under your Weasley spell," Louis says, surprising me the day before my birthday. I'm in the library studying, and way too close to the front desk for him to be speaking at any volume.

" _Weasley spell_?" I say, louder. I get a long _sh_ from a few feet away.

"Come with me, I'll tell you all about it."

People are watching us, probably ready to start another rumor, but I am blushing too hard under his gaze to care. I follow him, as any lovesick teenage girl would do. He brings me to the Great Hall. I didn't realize it was lunchtime already.

"Rose said you forget to eat sometimes." He laughs, sitting down. "You've always got your nose in a book or something."

"So tell me about this Weasley spell of mine," I say, trying hard to ignore that Louis Weasley has stored away information about me a for a rainy day.

"Well." He grabs himself some food. "People were very surprised that you and Rose became friends two years ago, and someone _tried_ to start a rumor that you had cast a spell." He laughs. He laughs a lot, I've begun to notice. I like it. "But no one believed it, obviously. It's a ridiculous notion, probably from a jealous person. Anyway, then you guys started becoming closer with James, and now albus, and me." He winks, overdramatically. I swoon at the thought of him being in my life. "And after Albus apparently jumped you in the hallway two days ago, yelling about presents or something, people are saying that he's hated you for too long to just do a quick turn-around like that, so obviously you've got us all under some spell."

"Wow." I grab some food, as well. "I'm one powerful witch."

"I don't think our peers realize it's only natural to get to know your friends' families."

"They are quite oblivious, it seems." I smile, taking a bite.

Louis smiles back. "I can't wait for you to meet Anna tomorrow night, you're going to love her; she's going to love you."

"Anna?" I ask, my stomach already dropping.

"My new girlfriend. Fifth year Slytherin. She's lovely."

.

James stumbles upon me by the lake later, wrapped tightly in a jumper. After smiling my way through the rest of lunch while internally falling apart, I wandered up to my dorm, thankful that Fridays mean no class after 11 for me. I spent a few minutes in my bed, but after my roommates stumbled in and out a few times, I got fed up with company and wandered to the lake. In late September, with no large warming charms cast, I was bound to get the isolation I craved. And then James Potter.

"Nora?" He stands above me, so ridiculously casual in this odd situation. "A bit nippy for a just a jumper, don't you think?"

"The cold distracts me from my feelings."

James sits down next to me, disregarding my teenage angst as he makes himself comfortable. After moments of movement, the rustling of fabrics, he gets very close, and huddles us under his cloak.

"Probably easier to just face your feelings."

I don't know what to say, so I stare ahead into the lake, pushing myself further into James's warmth. He doesn't push me to say anything; he knows some things are better dealt with internally. I'm still wondering if this is one of them.

"I've heard asking what you want for your birthday is a dangerous question," he locks our arms.

"Have you heard about my Weasley spell, too?"

"What?"

I laugh to myself. Of course he doesn't know. "Nothing to worry yourself over."

"Anyway, I haven't exactly been a part of planning your birthday party, so I thought I would still ask if there is anything you'd like."

"James-" I bump his shoulder- "even if I didn't hate that question, my birthday is tomorrow."

"I was trying to figure something out without having to ask."

The reason I hate the question so much is that I have no idea what I want. James, sitting next to me right now, makes me hate the question even more. I want to tell him something he could get me, something I want or always love to get, but the things I want in this moment are things he cannot give me. Nobody can but me.

"That's sweet," I tell him, honestly.

"Or rather idiotic. Maybe I can ask Rose instead." He starts to move, but I pull him back.

"You draw," I say.

"I draw."

"Right. Draw me something. I like your drawings. I know it's short notice, but I don't need it tomorrow, you know? Tell me you're drawing something, and then, tomorrow, my present will be knowing that you're taking the time to draw me something."

James laughs a little bit. "Ok, I'm drawing you something."

"Sounds like a great present to me."

.

October 1, 2022

The lake is cold again today. Today is my birthday. I feel alive; I feel special.

In the night, there is a bigger group of people around the lake than I expected, but when Rose hands me a cup and gives me a hug, I feel no resentment. I look at these people here to celebrate me - my eyes on Louis for seconds too long - and I feel a sensation in my belly and my heart that I never want to end.

"Happy birthday!" my best friend shouts.

"Happy birthday!" everyone else echoes.

"Thank you," I say to Rose, smiling, tears at the corners of my eyes.

"Only the best for my love."

I dance, uncaring about the way that I look to the people around for long enough to feel free. I drink a lot, everyone offering a sip of what they've brought. Louis's firewhiskey tastes like hell but his smiles looks like heaven, so I grin through the burn as it oozes down my throat.

I meet Anna. She is small, with short brown hair and big eyes. I like her eyes, blue and shiny and young. They remind me of glass. Nothing like Jane's, but still beautiful. Anna is beautiful, and it hurts.

James takes me by the hand as I pour myself another drink.

"Sorry, I'm late," he says. I wonder about this odd show of friendship; I've never held his hand before. Then I feel something in our grasp, sitting there, small and thin and _oh, parchment_. He lets go and I hold on and when we're apart, I hold it closer to my face, the carefully folded parchment.

"James, is this why you're late?"

"You said that knowing I was taking the time was a great present, but I thought this would be better."

I look between him and the paper. I don't want to say it, and I don't have to say it, but yes, this is better. And the thought warms my already vibrating limbs because I am so joyed in this moment. When I drink, I always feel it in my cheeks first, and they are growing rosier in this moment. "Thank you," I say eventually.

"Of course."

.

Towards the end of the festivities, after a chorus of _happy birthday to you_ , after lots of birthday hugs and kisses and sips of mead or whiskey or wine, Rose and I sit down for a quiet party of two in the Gryffindor common room. We giggle about who kissed whom tonight, about silly presents people brought in lieu of obligations, about the look on my face when I met Anna and how I just cannot bring myself to be the petty lovesick girl who hates other girls. We're munching on squares of dark chocolate from Frank Longbottom when James brings a stumbling, bumbling, fumbling Albus Potter through the portrait hole.

"Birthday girl!"

"Yes, that's me."

"Albus, shut up and go to bed," Rose quips.

James is quiet, but his eyes follow Albus up the stairs and out of sight.

"Time for bed," Rose rises, and stretches, long and lean. "You two can walk each other."

I rise, too, and smile. "I have had a good night."

I follow James out of the common room and into the corridor. We are quiet at first because James is one of the few people in the world whose silence doesn't make me want to fill it. I watch him walk, steady and rigid and wholly unlike my mismatched, intoxicated steps. He is definitively sober, and I want to ask why. I do not. I remember his drawing in the stitched pocket inside my cloak I made to hide my cigarettes. I pull it out, and I think I'm quietly unfolding it, but then James says, "Oh, Merlin. Are you really going to open it in front of me?"

"I thought the parchment wouldn't make any noise."

"Why would you think that?"

"I'm drunk, James."

I look down at the full picture in my hands, and it takes a moment for my hazy eyes to adjust to seeing such a swirling pattern in the darkness. James must have cast some sort of charm because there are no creases left behind from folding. A beautiful assortment of blacks and golds all flow toward the center where, in bold, gray script, James wrote _whisper words of wisdom_. I breathe in. " _let it be_ ," I sing quietly, remembering the soft tune aching through our kitchen on Saturday mornings, my father humming along.

"I know it's cheesy - "

"It's perfect," I tell him earnestly. "I really like it. Thank you."

I stop, and he stops, and I give him a great, tight hug.

"I'm glad we're friends." He says.

And it fills my thrumming, buzzing brain with joy. It always sounds cheesy when someone tells me about a moment like this, but to be a part of it is something completely different. Something completely magnificent.


	6. 5: we pick ourselves undone

chapter 5: we pick ourselves undone  
 _you have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve  
_ _and i have always buried them deep beneath the ground  
_ -bastille, flaws

recommended listening:  
flaws by bastille  
i want you to want me by letters to cleo

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

I urge you, please, do me the favor of feeling the things you need to. Bottles were not made to cage all the human heart can experience.

 _end excerpt_

October 2, 2022

I wake up the morning after my birthday with something inside my chest beside a hangover, and I feel guilty. In the aftermath of being shown such **love** from my friends, as well as people I don't know or can't believe they gave a damn about me, I can't help but focus on the passive rejection from Louis. It's silly, really, I never said anything so he couldn't outright reject me, but I still can't help letting my mind spiral. If he liked me, surely he would have said something. Or maybe he didn't see me as an option. If I had said something weeks, months, _years_ ago, how would he have reacted? Am I even enough for him?

I shake my head, and tiptoe to the bathroom. After the party, my dorm mates, Francesca and Alena, Franci and Lenny, best friends, are sleeping the same bed, sprawled and half-clothed. Deidre, who was not invited, is probably alone, curtains drawn. Indra Darzi, her friend, never came back to Hogwarts this year. Rumors have been flying about the castle, each one extreme and unrelated to the next. She was kidnapped or murdered, they say. Her parents moved countries, they say. She's shacked up with an older bloke and ran away from home, they say. The last one is laughable at best, since Indra is an out and proud memeber of the lesbian community within Hogwarts.

Deidre has been quiet the past few weeks. In the dorm, her curtains are always drawn shut. In the Great Hall, she always sits alone. I see her in the library reading sometimes, also alone. In the few classes we share together, she keeps to herself, and never raises her hand. Deidre, for all the bad things I'll say about her interests and friendships and maltreatment of our own friendship, has always been an avid student at Hogwarts. She has always been so good at toeing the line before being considered a teacher's pet. It makes me worried the things I consider bloody rumors are actually bloodier truths.

When I exit the bathroom, her curtains are open, and she is pulling on shoes.

"How are you?" I ask quietly, sitting on the bed next to hers. It was supposed to be Indra's.

Deidre exits the room.

.

Breakfast is quiet. Sizeable chunks from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses were at my party last night, but even the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables are noticeably lacking in patrons. Saturday morning breakfast is usually quiet, or so I've heard. This is the first year I've been awake for it on more than the rare occasion.

I make sure to sit a good distance from Deidre, who is hunched over a plate of eggs, looking only at her fork as it dips bits of yellow into her mouth, and comes back out cleaned. After I spread some wildberry jam on toast, James sits next to me, immediately grabbing a plate and piling biscuits and sausage onto it. I do not say anything to him, and it brings me comfort that he does the same.

.

Rose finds me in the library later in the day, reading and rereading a new submission to _Anonymous_ , desperately searching for an answer.

"Are you ok?" she asks me. I look up at her, and I know she isn't asking about the confused look on my face. She's asking about Louis and Anna and having the boy I like so much like somebody right in front of me at my own birthday party.

"Of course, Rosie, just reading a new submission."

"Nora, I'm not asking about the paper."

"I know, Rose, but I'm ok."

"Are you?"

"He was just a fantasy," I sigh and lie to my friend. I lie to myself. I lie to make it hurt less. "I never actually thought Louis and I were going to be anything. He was a... distraction. A fantastical dream."

"You're allowed to be sad about this," Rose insists. There is a pity beneath her voice that makes me sick, so I fake a smile.

"Rosie, love, I am alright. So a boy didn't like me? Not exactly the end of days, you know? I've got paper stuff to occupy my mind, anyways."

"Don't just brush this under the rug. I know you."

"I'm not made of glass!" My voice raises just the slightest, but I already hear a shushing from the librarian who is completely out of sight. "You're right: I am allowed to be sad about this. But why do I have to be? Why do you seem to want me to be? I'm so tired of being sad, little, naive Nora. Maybe that's why he didn't like me; he could see beneath the exterior and right down to my flaws."

"Nora, honey, you don't have to be sad, but I know you are. It's ok to be sad. We're teenagers; we've got hormones taking over our brains and stupid boys who don't know how to catch up to us. You aren't sad, little, naive Nora. You're Nora."

I look at Rose in all her glory. The way she is so herself from moment to moment. It's something I appreciate about her family; they're each so themself in every second. I am always second guessing decisions before I even make them. I am always holding myself back. I am always never letting myself become who or what I want. I'm afraid of myself. Rose is truth and I am facade, and it hurts to think about so I say, "I'm Nora." And I try to smile a little brighter.

.

October 3, 2022

The first issue with Anonymous comes out today. I tried to forget, but, of course, Rose will not let me. I love her for so many things, and always shoving me towards greatness if definitely one that I have to will myself to love.

"I'm so fucking excited! And you did this one all on your own! Merlin, I'm so excited to quietly fawn over you all day!"

"Is that what you're doing right now, Rose? _Quietly_ fawning over me?"

"Ok, ok, I can take a hint."

Rose Weasley cannot take a fucking hint.

She's still exclaiming vague nonsense about how proud she is of me when James joins us, and I am so grateful to him for not asking any questions. The amazing combination of his being used to Rose and what seems to be a massive disinterest in most things most days has this moment coming up Nora.

Papers begin to drop on the tables.

Rose squeals.

I duck my head as she opens one.

James notices.

Then, "Jamie, read the paper with me. Emma told Al who told me about this new advice column, and I know it doesn't seem like my thing, but I'm weirdly excited about it!"

"Rose, when have you or Al taken advice from anyone ever?"

Rose and I look both at James, astonished.

"While I'm mildly offended, I'm more so feeling like a mum watching her child take their first steps." Rose hugs James. James makes no movement. "Nora, do you want to read the column, too? Here, I can just read it out loud."

She thinks she's being so fucking sneaky, but James is right: Rose Weasley does not seek advice from anyone except her mum or the occasional me. I look at James as Rose begins to read. He must know, I think. Or maybe I'm just too paranoid for my own good. Maybe I shouldn't have done this.

I have to convince myself this is good, and so I grit my teeth while Rose reads.

.

Dear Anonymous,

I've always struggled with my looks. Since I was little, I have been hyper-aware of the differences between me and other girls. Height, weight, skin color, hair texture, breast size. For a long time, I have been hyper-aware of the way my clothes fit or how long it has been since I last shaved.

I've reached the age where dating is socially accepted, if not expected. I watch my friends flirt, get asked on dates, ask others on dates, giggle to the rest of us when a date is set. I have listened to each of my friends all talk about her first date, first kiss, first relationship, first fuck. And here I am, a heterosexual teenage girl, alone. Boys don't flirt with me. In fact, they barely talk to me. So I'm sat here wondering what I have always wondered.

Am I pretty?

.

Dear Anyone and Everyone,

Are you pretty?

What's going to change in your life if I say yes? Do you begin to deserve more? Will you become more confident, or begin to second-guess yourself just a little less? Does getting dressed in the morning become any easier? Does your future become just a little bit brighter?

What's going to change in your life if I say no? Do you want to crawl under an invisibility cloak and hide yourself and your face from the rest of the world? Does your life plan suddenly change? Is the future now all doom and gloom?

To be frank, I don't think you care about how you look as much as you care about caring about how you look. Make sense? The question isn't so much _Am I pretty?_ but _Do other people think I'm pretty, namely boys?_ because the first one can be answered by only one person: you.

Our culture still has a way to go when it comes down to the appearance of girls and women — especially women of color, but that may be a different topic for a different time, — Make a note, though, because it is a bitter truth — Our culture demands women make an effort to look good for the men around them, but then our culture demeans them for being vain. Our culture demands confidence, but then calls women egoistic for loving themselves. Looks are a tricky subject this way, being so politicized all the time. People love to give women shit for caring about whatever it is they care about. So much built-in shame comes with being a woman who has to put on clothing and leave the house. Sorry, but if you ask a gendered question, you're going to receive a gendered answer.

If you're only goal is to attract a boy, then I can't help you. Everyone is different. If you want to be happy with the way you look, then stop thinking about everyone else. Because there is always going to be someone who doesn't like you or something about you. There's always going to be someone whom you deem prettier than yourself, funnier, braver, more clever, more charming. That's life.

Pretty often isn't about looks. It's about being better than others, about standing out in a crowd, about being somebody's _one_ , about not feeling ashamed of yourself. But these are all things you need to find within yourself before you can share your soul with another.

Good luck on your journey.

-Anonymous

.

October 21, 2022

Almost three weeks later, the fourth issue with Anonymous comes out in three days. It's the first submission that wasn't preplanned before the first came out, and I had ten new submissions to sort through and answer. Anonymous is popular, and I am living in awe that my peers find me to be emotionally clever.

Rose is trying to quietly gush to me at lunch while I ignore her in favor of my sandwich, when Albus sits down next to me with an excited smile.

"Al, what?" Rose interrupts herself. Al puts his arm around me. I decide not to shrug him off.

"Party, tonight, Gryffindor common room." He gives me a wink, gets up, and leaves.

"He didn't say what time," Rose furrows her brows.

"Or if there's a theme."

"Or if we have to bring our own shit if we want to not be sober."

"You're in Gryffindor. How did you not know about this?"

"Because I only talk to two quiet Hufflepuffs."

.

Later, I watch Louis and Anna at the party. She twirls beneath his hand with a flushed face and a genuine laugh. I imagine myself in her place, my hair much longer and wilder, getting so close to smacking Louis in the face but actually just lightly just tickling his nose. I imagine myself in a long, shimmery, tan dress, so unlike the small, pale blue one I borrowed from Rose. I imagine myself with a smile that genuine and kind. I try to take my own advice and find myself beautiful, so I turn away from the magazine-worthy couple.

"Lenny! Franci!" I yell to my dorm mates to try to feel less alone.

"Nora!" Lenny yells back; she hugs me drunk and tight. "Look at you in a dress! Gorgeous woman!"

Franci, somehow holding four shot glasses, hands me one. "These were supposed to be for us, Alfie, and Howie, but fuck 'em! You look too hot to not do a shot right now!" She hands another to Lenny, and then looks at the two shot glasses she has left. "Two for the hot Nora!" She shouts, and hands me another one. Unassuming and mildly uneducated when it comes to drinking, I won't learn until later in life these are the size of doubles.

And that's how I throw back four shots.

.

"Do you think the alphabet truly makes sense?"

Al laughs at me, and passes me another drink. "Nora, you are a delightful drunk."

"Why thank you, Albus. You, too, are a delight tonight."

Al reaches over to hold my hand. I know it is out of a drunken, platonic bonding and nothing more. I feel content calm cured with his hand in mine, and the electric static static static in my brain slows to a melodic buzz. On my left side, Rose leans her head on my shoulder as she sings along to the bounce bounce bouncing music around us.

.

Emma holds my hands while we dance. I can't help but stare at the way her eyes sparkle in the lights blink blink blinking around us. Her skin is shiny shiny shiny and smooth, free of blemishes, free of makeup, free of that haunted look I see behind the eyes of so many girls. I think I want to kiss her just for being so so so free and so so so kind. I do not. I just dance with her, and it is enough.

.

Howie, a good friend of Franci and Lenny, finds me sipping on a firewhiskey, watching the party. He lets me tell him about my love for songbirds for what feels like a long long long time. He smiles in a bright, kind way when I fumble over my words. He steadies me by the shoulders when I stumble to the side, and once I'm upright, one of his hands doesn't let go.

.

I smile wide as I throw my arms around James. He lifts me onto his back, and his hands feel hot hot hot against my naked thighs. We run down the boys' staircase as Rose — with a less than enthusiastic Albus on her back — runs down the girls'. When James and I reach the finish line in the center of the common room first, there is a crowd of cheers. I plant a sloppy sloppy, wet kiss onto each of James's cheeks before he sets me down.

.

I sit next to her on the couch, and look her in the eyes for the first time in too long. She is alone alone alone at this wild wild party, and I think she look sad sad sadder than I have ever seen her look. There are so so so many things I want her to know, but I settle for just this.

"I still care about you," I slur. "You can tell me if you're not ok."

Deidre leaves me alone alone alone.


	7. 6: awkward body games all over town

chapter 6: awkward body games all over town  
it's a catalogue of modern mistakes  
her words and legs wrapped around each man  
-bastille, oil on water

recommended listening:  
oil on water by bastille  
BITE by troye sivan

* * *

 _excerpt from_ bound for company _by Nora Finnigan_

For a long time, Rose Weasley was the only person I could totally honest with. And in the times I was not, it was because of the mess within my own head rather than her actions. For a long time, I think I was more honest with Rose than I was with myself. Now, I truly understand that honesty is the best policy. And maybe sometimes I am too honest, but I'd rather be known as such a person than to ever be called a liar. Because lies only breed more lies, and getting caught within a web of such again isn't something I would like. I just wish I knew then what I know now.

 _end excerpt_

.

October 22, 2022

I awake the next morning in just a t-shirt and knickers. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing, but I do not wake up alone. They're pressed against my back, arm slung over my torso, holding me close, forearm partially covering the Chudley Cannons logo on a t-shirt I do not own. I try to turn over, slow and undisturbing; the person stirs, breathes out, but does not wake up. I look up at the black and yellow curtains around us, shut for privacy. On my back, I turn my head as the arm tightens and loosens. I stare at the slope of his jaw, then the way his forehead wrinkles as he dreams, then his tousled hair, then his complexion in the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I think I finally understand the love poems my mother would sometimes read Jane and me in place of bedtime stories. If I weren't already been on high alert, the thought would've shocked me awake.

As I sit up, James finally wakes. The tiredness in his eyes, the way he scratches his head, how he instinctively puts his hand on my back; it all causes me to compose a poem all my own.

I cannot have feelings of romance for James Potter.

"Are you ok?" He asks quietly.

"How did I end up here last night?" I whisper, too afraid to ask the question I need an answer to.

"You found Rose and me at the party, talking really fast about absolutely nothing, but you seemed sad. Rose thought it was best I took you back to your room, but when we got back to the common room you begged me not to let you sleep alone. So I took you up here." He sits up, his hand never leaving me. "I hope that was ok."

"So we didn't…"

"Nora, Merlin, no. Do you really think I would — "

"No! I just… I just don't remember. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize; it's ok. I'm sorry you worried."

We look at each other for a moment, and then he moves to get up, his hand leaving a cold, lonely space. He peaks through the curtains, and then draws them open. I see a couple of empty beds, and one with its curtains shut. James moves to pull on a shirt and trousers, and I finally notice his only wearing pants. I watch his back move as he stretches before pulling on his shirt. He is thinner than I realized, and I have to stop myself from thinking about how my thighs look outside of pants. The sunlight from the window surrounds him in light, and I resume my poem. I stare at my hands.

"Thank you for taking me here. Thank you for not leaving me alone. Just… Thank you." I look up again, and he's looking at me. _sunbeam, daydream, i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please._ I would like to think of this as the moment I fall in love with James. I would like to be able to pinpoint it. I would like to be able to tell a definitive story, but that's ambitious of me. It's far too soon. I'm getting ahead of myself, as I always do.

"Of course." He sits next to me on the bed as I look down again, hyper-aware of my pale, bare legs in the morning sun. He rests his hand on mine.

I want to tell him. I want him to know. I want to share this moment with him. I wonder if it would be selfish to thrust this upon him before he's even had breakfast. If he doesn't feel anything for me, which is more than likely the case, then I do not want to guilt him into it.

I need to talk to Rose.

I cannot tell Rose.

I cannot have feelings for another of her cousins.

"Are you ok?" He asks me again, sincere.

"Just your normal hangover daze. Nothing to worry yourself over. I'm not a huge fan of not remembering a night. I must've drank far past my limit."

"Need some potion?"

"No, but thank you." The words almost get stuck in my throat. I wonder if James is like Rose — she hates being thanked too much. "I think I should ride this out, you know? I should punish myself for taking it too far." I get off the bed, and try to make myself forget I'm not wearing any pants. My clothes from last night are folded neatly upon the trunk at the bottom of James's bed, and it makes me want to cry. I'm getting ahead of myself again.

"Nora, are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, I just — " I stop myself. No, I cannot tell him. I don't think I will ever be able to tell him. "I just need to go to my bed, and go back to sleep. Thank you, James, for taking care of me last night. Sorry if I cut your night short. Sorry to have burdened you."

"I'm here for you whenever you need me. Don't punish yourself too much for last night. You are nowhere near a burden to me." He looks away as I pull on my clothing. I leave before he can turn back around. I think things are different now.

.

One hand picks at the edges of an uneaten sandwich as the other hurriedly writes down everything inside of me. I'm trying to understand how this all could have happened, how I could having these feelings for James now. I do not want them to be a distraction from the pain that is Louis with Anna, but I have to wonder if that might be a good thing. Because if it is just a distraction, then I don't have to worry about it too much.

James is goodness. He is quiet and kind, but has a loyalty to those he loves and a fierce need to protect them. If James were not Rose and Louis's cousin, Albus's brother, liking him would be so easy. The poem from this morning plays on a loop in my brain, and so I write it down. I think maybe it will help.

 _sunbeam,_

 _finally feasible to daydream._

 _i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please._

 _knobby knees_

 _knock into me_

 _as i sleep._

I tear out the page, crumble it up, and put it beside me on the table.

Rose sits next to me after I've written an entire page describing the way James's hand felt resting on me. I shut the book quickly.

" _Secrets secrets are no fun_ ," she sings.

"But sometimes they're necessary."

.

October 23, 2022

Rose doesn't sit with me at lunch today. There is a tension between us that we have had yet to experience. Until now, we didn't have secrets.

James is sitting quietly next to me. It is a particularly dreary day, and we both sip soup as we fill our notebooks. I peak across the table to see him drawing me again, and I choke on a warm carrot. His eyes dart up as I make a strangled noise, but I swallow the bit before he has the chance to try and save me. I give him two thumbs up and a forced smile.

I write my poem for him again and again and again.

 _only beneath sunbeams,_

 _does it become feasible to daydream._

 _i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please._

 _i'll learn to love the way your knobby knees_

 _repeatedly knock into me._

 _i find comfort beside you as i sleep._

I smile at it; it feels complete. Then I tear out the page, crumble it up, and put it beside me on the table.

"Not happy with your work?" James says, never looking up from his version of me. I wish I could look like that. James makes me look so beautiful and interesting, like a mystery someone would want to unravel.

"Does it ever hurt to be honest with yourself?" James is not a distraction from Louis and Anna. James is goodness. James is the kind of guy I always thought I would have feelings for.

James looks up. James looks into my eyes. James looks just over my shoulder.

Someone clears their throat behind me.

I turn to see Howie.

"Hello, Nora," he says with a small smile. "Mind if I join you for a second?"

"Sure," I say, looking at James. James just looks back to his notebook. I remember a flash of the party: Howie and me by the sidelines, his hand on my shoulder, his smile wide, his demeanor interested in whatever silly thing I had to say. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm ok."

"So you know how there's a Hogsmeade trip just before Halloween?"

"Yes," I say because I do know. And I don't know what else to say because I do know where this is going. I may have never been asked on a date before, but I still know where this is going. And part of me wants to stop it before it happens because James is right across the table. And a bigger part of me doesn't stop it because James is right across the table. Maybe it's a good thing if I just take the option of James away before I get too attached.

"Well, I was hoping you'd like to go with me," Howie says, and looks to his hands for a moment. He looks back up at me. "As a date."

I look at James, and it seems as though he hasn't even heard the interaction. I look at Howie and his small smile, his shaved blonde hair, his bright eyes. I try not to take too long.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Great!" His smile grows. "I can meet you in the Great Hall before we head down there, or maybe at the Three Broomsticks for drinks."

"I have to run some errands with Rose for the weekend, so maybe at the Three Broomsticks." I don't want to say that I don't want to spend the whole day with him, but I do not want to spend the whole day with him. I think I could like a boy like Howie; I just don't right now.

"5 o'clock?"

"Sounds lovely, Howie."

"Amazing." He keeps smiling, and moves to go sit with his friends. Franci and Lenny look at me at the exact same time, and I wave and smile, laughing a bit. I turn to James who is finally looking up from his notebook and at me.

"Howie, huh?" He isn't holding his quill anymore.

"He was very nice to me at the party, even though I was talking his ear off about — something. I don't remember." I take a sip of my soup so I don't have to look at James.

"Do you like him?" James picks up his quill again, but doesn't dip it into his ink.

"I could."

"So you don't like him."

"I don't know, James," I put my spoon down and look at him. He's looking at Howie and his friends. "No, I don't like him, but I also don't know him very well. I figured I could take this Hogsmeade trip as a way to get to know him."

"Ok." James dips his quill into the ink, and instead of adding more detail to my hair as he was doing before, he turns to a blank page.

.

October 29, 2022

"I can't believe you're going on a date with _Howie_ ," Rose smoothes down the tight red dress on her body, turning to see how her butt looks in the mirror. The _errands_ I told Howie about are actually just me being kinder to Rose than usual as she tries on dresses for the Halloween festivities tonight. She wants to be the devil to my angel. I want to tell her it's a cliche costume, but I still feel bad about keeping a secret from her, so I lie and say I love it. The lie tastes like asphalt on my tongue.

"Why? He's nice."

"He's a _skinhead_ ," she drawls, and pulls on the long, sheer sleeve of the full, white dress I'm wearing.

"He isn't a skinhead, Rose. He's still got hair, it's just very short and blond."

"We should get body glitter for your neck and your arms to show beneath the sleeves — oh, does this have a slit?"

I kick my leg out, my bare shin in the air for just a moment. "Why do you not want me to go on this date?"

"I didn't say that." Rose looks away from me and back to her reflection.

"You didn't have to." I start to change back into my day clothes.

"Nora, you _just_ got your heart broken." In my peripheral, I see her stop all movements.

"No, I didn't. I got a little hurt by a boy I wasn't even with. Please, just be happy for me."

"Ok."

.

Howie stops me outside the Hufflepuff common room. Before I can ask him what he's doing, he kisses me swiftly and softly. I kiss him back, but it's with much less enthusiasm. I do not know if he notices.

He bids me goodbye after we enter through the barrel lid, and his friends whisk him away and up the boys' staircases. I find James sitting on the long sofa, sketchbook in his lap, the page blank. He stares into the fire. I sit down next to him.

"Have fun tonight?" he turns to me.

"It was fine," I reply. No matter these feelings, I am still comfortable around James because he is still James. James is goodness. His quiet presence always brings comfort to the never ending conversation in my mind.

"Just fine?"

"I don't think I'll like him how I wanted to." I pull my legs onto the couch, and rest my chin on my knees.

"Well, that's your problem. You're looking for it instead of just feeling it."

"Just feeling it has never worked out for me."

It is quiet. The groups recounting their Hogsmeade day begin to dissipate, and James draws the shadows beneath my eyes. Soon, it is just us and the dying fire.

"I never answered your question," James says suddenly, closing his sketchbook.

"What question?"

"From Sunday, at lunch. You asked me if it ever hurts to be honest with myself." I don't say anything. I don't think I need to. "It does, actually. It hurts like hell sometimes. Because some of the truths of my life are hard, whether they be my fault or just the collateral damage of being born into my family. There are some days where I'd rather not be honest with myself. Then I remember that dishonesty only leads to more dishonesty, and so I promised I'd always be honest with myself and the people around me. Though, lately, it's been hard to stick with it."

"Why? — If you don't mind me asking."

"I think that's another talk for another day." James rises, and turns to me. "The point is: yes, sometimes it does hurt. But that doesn't mean you should lie, especially to yourself. If you can't be honest with yourself, you can't be honest with anybody."

"Ok. See you at the party soon?"

"I don't think so. Goodnight, Nora."

"Goodnight, James."

.

At the party, Howie approaches me by the punch. I am the kind of drunk that more affects my body than my brain. I've pulled it back from last time; I _will_ remember this night.

"I had a good time today," he says quickly. His hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders are stiff.

"Me too," I say because I did. I had a good time. I had a good time with someone I'd like to call a friend. I watch Louis and Anna laugh together on the sofa, so when Howie leans in to kiss me, I kiss him back. When I close my eyes, I try not to imagine Louis or James kissing me the exact same way. The kiss is a lie lie lie.


End file.
